


honesty is a brittle blade

by elesssar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate ending to Episode 9, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Texting, excessive use of punctuation probably, you know what that means folks makkachin dies in this one im sorry pls forgive me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 21:09:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8912044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elesssar/pseuds/elesssar
Summary: or: Viktor Nikiforov muses on all the things he does not think he has the strength to face, and Katsuki Yuuri is there to hold him together. After all - he has felt this, too.





	

**9:15pm MSK 20/11/16**

Viktor’s forehead is pressed against the plane window. His body is folded protectively over his hands, which are clutching his phone against his stomach. It is switched off and useless, but he can’t let it go.

He watches as Moscow falls away.

It’s a clear night – the lights of the city spread out, and out, and out. But he doesn’t feel like he is leaving home.

And when did _that_ happen? When _did_ Russia stop feeling like home?

Viktor closes his eyes. He knows the answer. Truth, like most other things, is buried deep inside of him. He does not like to bring it into the open.

Family, life, love, _honesty_. Such simple things! And yet, not so simple.

The plane pushes into the clouds, and Russia is lost. He opens his eyes, unravels himself only enough to touch a finger to the glass.

“I’m sorry, Yuuri,” he whispers.

“Huh?” the man beside him queries, thinking that he was being addressed. Viktor apologises, with the wide smile he applies whenever he needs to hide the fact that he’s shattering a little on the inside.

 

**10:21pm MSK 20/11/16**

Yuuri can’t sleep. The hotel room is too quiet without Viktor. Yuuri has long since grown used to the tumult of being surrounded on all sides by Viktor Nikiforov and his larger than life personality. The singing in the shower, the random observational quips at inconvenient times, even the sound of his _breathing_ – they all form the background noise to Yuuri’s life. Now he all he can hear is the hum of the refrigerator.

Yuuri flings himself out of bed in a sudden violent motion. He goes to the window and looks out over the city. Without his glasses on he can’t see anything in detail, but the glow is soothing. Even though it’s winter, and well below freezing outside, Yuuri pushes open the window.

The bar in the hotel lobby spills some patrons into the soft night. Three men, arms across each other’s shoulders, start singing, A pair of women walking behind them laugh. One of them yells something.

The sound of the foreign language soothes Yuuri. His shoulders drop (had he really been holding them so tense up around his ears? He must remember to work on his posture!) and he heaves a sigh. He has picked up a few words of Russian from Viktor and Yurio, but not enough to understand the words of the passers-by. It is familiar enough that he feels comforted, all the same.

 

**11:03pm MSK 20/11/16**

“Would you like some champagne?” the flight attendant asks, and Viktor is startled from his reverie.

“Mn? Oh. Yes, please,” he nods (he cannot quite manage a smile), and the attendant pours him a glass. He is in business class this time, and the flute is real glass. He twirls it between his fingers and watches the bubbles rise to the surface.

Is it, he wonders, the same…?

He takes a sip, lets the liquid slide across his tongue. Yes, it is. This is the very same brut cuvée that had been served at the banquet following the previous grand prix. What a night _that_ had been!

 

Just another banquet, just another gathering of skaters and their coaches, standing around clutching at champagne and medals and the same tired topics of conversation. He’d been so _bored_.

Sometimes he liked to play little games – he watched people, tried to guess what they might be feeling, what they might be going to do after one or two or five more glasses of champagne. Usually he was so _disappointed_.

 

On the plane now, Viktor switches his phone on again. The background picture is Makkachin, and his stomach gives a most unpleasant twist. He opens his photos, carefully doesn’t look at the folder dedicated to his dog, and instead opens the one from last year’s Grand Prix.

With his headphones on he watches darling drunk Yuuri whipping his tie around his head, flicking Yurio with it until the prickly younger boy agrees to dance. And Chris, agreeing to the pole, of _course_.

He doesn’t have any of the photos of himself and Yuuri – he had stopped taking photos the moment Yuuri had tucked a finger in between two of the buttons on his shirt (the unexpected touch of skin on skin had made him shiver even then) and dragged him closer.

 

Viktor touches a finger to his lips, and glances once more out of the window.

 

 

**2:44am MSK 21/11/16**

Yuuri wakes suddenly with a cry caught in throat. His heart is hammering, and his face is wet with tears. He stumbles to the bathroom and splashes water on his face.

“Pull yourself together,” he says out loud (because the quiet is still so unnerving). This has little discernible effect.

He had been dreaming about Vicchan – not the pipe-dream man with silvery hair and sunshine smile, who won hearts like card games – but the dog. _His_ Vicchan – or at least, his _first_ Vicchan.

He hasn’t dreamed this dream in months – but it’s not so surprising, seeing as history seems to be repeating itself.

With a sigh, Yuuri gets back into bed. Eyes open and staring at the ceiling, he remembers.

 

He had been in Canada, at the time – his first Grand Prix event of the season. He’d won silver – somehow – and was packing to return to Detroit at some ridiculously early hour the next morning. His phone had rung. Expecting it to be some other family member or friend calling to offer him congratulations, he’d answered without looking.

“Yuri-chan,” it was his mother, “I’m so sorry.”

Totally bemused, Yuuri wedged his phone between his ear and his shoulder and tugged on the jammed zipper with both hands.

“Mmphugh,” he grunts, “sorry, I’m just…trying to…stupid suitcase! What were you saying?”

“I’m so sorry, Yuuri,” his mother repeats, “but it’s Vicchan – he got out into the road, we couldn’t stop him!”

“What?” Yuuri’s smile started to slip. She couldn’t mean…she wasn’t saying…

“Vicchan’s dead, Yuuri,” she said.

“No,” Yuuri said flatly – because he couldn’t be dead, that was ridiculous, it was, it was…

The truth, as it turned out.

 

There have been many times in Yuuri’s life where he had thought he was at his worst. But none of them – _none of them_ – could compete with the way he had felt then. Yuuri sighs, and turns over, closing his eyes as if it will stop the pain from hitting him over and over.

Losing a beloved pet, and being too far away to help, too far away to say goodbye…it knocks the breath out of you. Yuuri finds he is having trouble breathing now, remembering. He had felt so _empty,_ when he’d finally realised what his mother was saying. He had just…lain there in tears on the floor of the hotel room.

So when Mari had called, and told him that Makkachin was dying – he’d _had_ to send Viktor away. He’d _had_ to! He _couldn’t_ let Viktor go through what he had been through. He would not let his Viktor, wonderful and warm, suffer that. Not for him. No way.

With an angry huff Yuuri turns over again and punches his pillow.

 

**5:36am MSK 21/11/12**

Viktor stares at himself in the wobbly aeroplane bathroom mirror. He’s zoning out – has he been in here too long? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. He leans a little closer and prods his reflection in the nose.

Such self-evaluation is offering him no solutions.

The plane will be landing in a little over an hour and he’s still – what? Trying to decide how he _feels_? He touches his hair now. Yuuri had explained to him why he had touched it that time at Ice Castle and he can’t help but smile now to remember it.

 

“I just couldn’t help it,” Yuuri had said with a blush, hiding his face behind a mug full of tea, “it just looked so soft, I…”

“It’s no problem,” Viktor laughed, “I thought it was sweet!”

“I know you did,” Yuuri said, with that small sly smile that hinted of his Eros, that told Viktor in no uncertain terms that innocent Katsuki Yuuri knew _just_ how to take him apart.

“Well, my hair is yours to touch whenever you like – as is the rest of me!” Viktor said with hooded eyes and a soft smile, just to make Yuuri flush all over again.

 

Viktor gives up on analysing his reflection, and returns to his seat. The man in the aisle seat is still snoring away, so Viktor steps over his legs and snuggles back down underneath his blanket again. He has been dwelling on the look on Yakov’s face, when Viktor had asked him to take over as Yuuri’s coach for a day. Blank shock – that had been amusing, or would have been, if not for the urgency of the matter at hand. Total disbelief, and…disappointment? That was the one that Viktor was still puzzling over.

Had Yakov really been disappointed in him? Maybe. Viktor is a little disappointed in himself. He has left Yuuri – left him! He’s Yuuri’s _coach_ for crying out loud, and his boyfriend to boot! And here he is, about to land in Japan, whilst Yuuri is still in Russia, right in the middle of competition.

He hates himself in that moment. Just a little.

 

**6:30am MSK 21/11/16**

**Yuuri <3 <3 <3:** How was your flight??

Received 12:30pm

 

**You:** Yuuri you should be sleeping

Sent 12:31pm

 

**Yuuri <3 <3 <3:** I couldn’t sleep.

Received 12:31pm

 

**You:** YUURI.

Sent 12:34pm

 

**Yuuri <3 <3 <3:** Don’t worry about me I’ll be fine!!!!!!!

Received: 12:35pm

 

**You:** Have a nap after practise.

Sent 12:46pm

 

**Yuuri <3 <3 <3:** DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME

Received 12:47pm

 

**Yuuri <3 <3 <3:** How’s Makkachin??

Received 12:27pm

 

**Yuuri <3 <3 <3:** Viktor?

Received 12:52pm

 

**You:** I don’t know yet Mari hasn’t called I’m not even through security.

Sent 12:54pm

 

**Yuuri <3 <3 <3:** It will be okay Viktor

Received 12:55pm

 

**You:** GO BACK TO SLEEP

Sent 12:57pm

 

**8:48am MSK 21/11/16**

It isn’t okay.

 

**11:11am MSK 21/11/16**

Yuuri looks at the clock, and makes a wish. It’s one of those silly American traditions, picked up when he was in college – but still. He closes his eyes and wishes hard – _please let Makkachin be alright, so that Viktor is alright…please!_

It doesn’t even occur to him to wish for himself.

He opens his eyes and finds that he’s been surrounded by reporters, who are asking him questions.

“Why has your coach Viktor Nikiforov gone back to Japan?”

“It didn’t look like you exchanged any words with coach Yakov at this morning’s public practise-”

“How are you feeling about your free skate?”

“Are you planning on keeping the quad flip in your programme?”

Yuuri feels a little overwhelmed. Usually Viktor is here to talk over the media, to tell them what they want to know, to fling an arm over Yuuri’s shoulder and talk loudly and at great length about how confident he is that Yuuri will do well. Yuuri only wishes he was that confident himself.

When he finally manages to get away, he checks his phone. Viktor still hasn’t texted him, or called. He doesn’t know if that’s a good sign or not. Surely Viktor would let him know if Makkachin was okay? But maybe he doesn’t want to distract Yuuri from the competition.

Ahh! The suspense is making him even _more_ distracted!

“Move it, pork cutlet bowl!” A voice snaps from behind him. Yuuri is practically pushed aside as Yurio storms down the corridor.

“Where are you going?” Yuuri asks him.

“None of your business,” Yurio says, with maybe a little less angry bite than usual. Yuuri just watches him go blankly. Is there something he ought to be doing right now…? He checks his phone one last time, before sighing and turning it off.

 

**2:30pm MSK 21/11/16**

Viktor sits on the beach with his head resting against his knees. His eyes hurt, and his throat hurts, but the pain in his heart is the worst of all.

It isn’t _fair_.

He pushes his fingers down hard into the sand and clenches his fists, scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing. He goes to rub his face, but a dim sense of self-preservation reminds him to brush off the handfuls of sand before he does so. Even then, tiny grains still stuck to his fingers scratch uncomfortably against his skin.

It’s not fair that this has happened – but he doesn’t blame Yuuri’s family at all. He assured them of that, over and over. He doesn’t blame anyone, it is no one’s fault, it was just an accident, an unfortunate series of events, but…

It is not fair that here, alone on the beach and alone in the world, all he wants is Yuuri. Yuuri understands – he knows what it feels like to lose something that you love, and to not have been able to prevent it, to not have been able to be there to comfort them and say goodbye.

Because he had been too late – that’s the worst of it all. He _left_ Yuuri, and he was still too fucking late.

Victor grabs a handful of sand and throws it, but his rage burns out as quickly as it comes. He sighs, and puts his head back down on his knees again.

He is aware of someone approaching, and looks up warily. It is Minako, carrying two bottles. She stops some distance from him, silently asking permission. He nods, so she sits and offers him the beer. He takes it, and turns it over in his hand, but doesn’t drink.

Minako has no such reservations, and has finished half of her bottle before Viktor finally speaks.

“I feel selfish,” he says.

“Eh??”

“Am I?” Viktor feels his way carefully around the words, “for wanting him right now?”

“Oh,” Minako says slowly, as she understands what Viktor is trying to say. Tiredly, he rubs his forearm across his eyes before continuing.

“Yuuri’s career should be the most important thing to me – it’s my _job_ , da? Making him the best skater he can be – and he can be so much, I am sure of it! And he has an important competition today in Russia and here I am in Japan, wanting…ahh.”

He finally starts drinking his beer. Articulating his thoughts is proving a little too difficult right now.

“You’re not just his coach though,” Minako says.

“Hmn?”

She shrugs and digs her empty bottle into the sand.

“He’s more than just your student, so it’s fine,” she continues, “you love him, right?”

“I…uh…”

“You’re not ready to admit that? Okay, that’s cool, it doesn’t matter – what matters is that your relationship is multidimensional, right? So it’s not selfish to want him to be here to comfort you because he’s your boyfriend! It’s got nothing to do with the coach element of your relationship, do you see?”

Viktor shakes his head slowly.

“Oh, never mind,” Minako says, “it doesn’t matter. But don’t you dare feel bad, okay?”

Viktor just drinks some more.

 

 

**6:27pm MSK 21/11/16**

Yuuri cannot quite believe it. He’s _actually_ made it to the grand prix final? _That_ doesn’t feel real. His skate hadn’t been the best – obviously – but he’d brought it back! He’d concentrated on Viktor, and he’d brought it back! He let his desire for the gold propel him, rather than hold him down! He can’t wait to tell Viktor all about it. He imagines Viktor’s pride, and can’t help but grin.

But then he checks his phone, and the only messages are from friends and family congratulating him – nothing from Viktor, and nothing about Makkachin. The grin slides off his face.

Déjà vu follows him into the bathroom, where he locks himself in a stall and dials Viktor’s number. It doesn’t matter that it’s midnight in Japan – he knows his call will go through.

It rings for a long time before Viktor finally picks up.

“Yuuri!” Viktor says. The connection is crackly and his voice is all tinny, but it’s still his voice. Yuuri closes his eyes and slumps against the wall of the stall.

“I watched your skate on the livestream!” Viktor continues, “I’m so proud of you! You could have done better on –”

“Viktor!” Yuuri interrupts.

“…da?”

“Viktor, what happened?” he asks.

There is a long silence. Yuuri knows the worst has happened. Tears well up and he can’t stop them.

“Oh, Viktor…” he says.

“I am…this is difficult,” Viktor admits, “I…Yuuri, I…”

He sounds the most fragile Yuuri has ever heard him. He wants to get on the plane now, immediately, he wants to be in Japan _right this minute_ so he can hold Viktor in his arms and tell him that it will be okay.

“How are you?” Yuuri asks him.

“I am,” Viktor pauses, “not…good, but…let’s talk about you!”

“ _No_ ,” Yuuri says firmly, “we can talk about my skate later, ok? It doesn’t matter right now.”

“Yuuri, you’re going to the grand prix final – which obviously I knew you would – so obviously your skate matters!”

“I didn’t say it didn’t matter, I said it didn’t matter _right now_ ,” Yuuri repeats, “Do you want to facetime instead? Will that…” he hesitates, “help?”

Viktor exhales what might be a chuckle.

“It might,” he admits, so they do.

Viktor is sitting on the floor of his bedroom, next to the austere stone bust affectionately nicknamed Yakov. It’s hard to tell, with the bad quality of the call and the poor lighting, but Yuuri is fairly sure that Viktor’s eyes are red.

Viktor doesn’t say anything for a while – he just cradles his phone in his hand and stares down and examines Yuuri’s face.

“Are you in the bathroom?” he asks after a minute, frowning.

Yuuri smiles sheepishly.

“Yeah,” he admits, “old habits, I guess.” He laughs awkwardly at the memory.

“What do you mean?” Viktor asks, and Yuuri tells him the story about Yurio and the Grand Prix final bathroom incident.

Only being able to _see_ Viktor’s face whilst they talk isn’t enough. Viktor clearly feels the same way.

“I want to be with you,” Viktor says, tipping his head back against the wall and trying to smile. His attempt breaks Yuuri’s heart.

“Please hurry home,” Viktor says.

“I will,” Yuuri promises, and they hang up.

Yuuri sits for a moment in the bathroom, holding his phone and staring blankly down at the dark screen. He can’t believe that Makkachin is…wow. Even thinking that one hurts. Makkachin had been with Viktor for 15 years! And now...

Maybe Viktor got there in time to say goodbye, or maybe he didn’t.

Pulling himself together piece by piece, Yuuri splashes some water on his face and leaves the bathroom. In the hallway directly outside, there is a confrontation going on. The Crispino siblings are having a fight. As soon as he appears, Sara snaps something at Mickey in Italian and turns to him.

“Yuuri! Congrats on qualifying for the Grand Prix final!” she says in English, and waves her arms out as if she’s going to hug him.

What the hell. Viktor isn’t here to hug, so he may as well work off his excess affection. He doesn’t know who is more surprised – Himself, or Sara, or Mickey. Probably Mickey. Yuuri would probably be entertained if he wasn’t just so damn _drained_.

 

**8:49pm MSK 21/11/16**

**Yuuri <3 <3 <3:** Boarding now. I’ll be home soon.

Received 2:49am

 

**You:** I miss you

Sent 2:29am

 

**Yuuri <3 <3 <3:** <3 <3

Received 2:49am

 

**Yuuri <3 <3 <3:** I have so much to tell you.

Received 2:50am

 

**You:** [typing]

~~I love you~~

~~I lo~~

~~Yuuri I love~~

**You:** I can’t wait to hear it  <3 <3

Sent 2:52am

 

**Yuuri <3 <3 <3:** Get some sleep, okay?

Received 2:52am

 

**You:** Wow! You’re telling me to go to bed!

Sent 2:52am

 

**Yuuri <3 <3 <3:** Haha. Have to go.

Received 2:53am

 

**Yuuri <3 <3 <3:** [typing]

~~Love you~~

**Yuuri <3 <3 <3:** I love you

Received 2:53am

 

**Yuuri <3 <3 <3:** It will be okay! I promise <3

Received 2:54am

 

**You:** [typing]

~~I love you I love you I love you~~

**You:** Yuuri

Sent 2:54am

 

**You:** I love you too

Sent 2:55am

 

**You:** I can’t wait for you to come home

Sent 2:55am

 

**You:** Safe flight!  <3

Sent 2:55am

 

**5:19am JST 22/11/16**

When Viktor wakes from a fitful sleep, he rolls over and stares at his texts from Yuuri. He looks at the I love you. He feels as though his heart is going to burst – a lot of sadness, some happiness, so much love. Yuuri will be home soon.

He locks his phone, and tries to get back to sleep.

 

**1:13pm JST 22/11/16**

Yuuri feels as if he has forgotten something, but he doesn’t care. He’s through security, and Viktor is there. Viktor is standing on the other side of the glass, dressed in messy clothes with his hair uncombed and shadows underneath his eyes. And then he isn’t just standing there anymore, he’s running and Yuuri is running too, and then the glass doors open and Viktor holds his arms out and Yuuri falls into them.

He is warm and dishevelled and hurting and alive and he is _Viktor_ and he is _here_. Yuuri is pressed against him and his arms are tight across the other man’s back, grasping at the fabric like a needy child. Viktor’s face is buried in his neck and he’s taking gasping breaths that vibrate through his entire body.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, “about what I can do as your coach from now on.

“Don’t,” Yuuri says.

“Hmh?”

“Don’t think about that now,” Yuuri says, and steps back. He keeps his arms on Viktor’s shoulders. Obligingly, Viktor shuffles back slightly so he’s not in Yuuri’s personal space. He sniffs, and smiles a watery little smile.

“You’ll take care of me, won’t you?” Yuuri asks him, “until I retire?”

“Of course,” Viktor says without missing a beat. He tips his head to once side.

“Sounds like a marriage proposal,” he says. Yuuri presses a finger to his lips.

“I’m not finished,” he says, and Viktor blinks, startled.

“You’ll take care of me,” Yuuri repeats, “and I’ll take care of you.”

“It’s not your job to take care of me,” Viktor mumbles against his hand.

“I’m…I’m your boyfriend…aren’t I?” for a heart-stopping second, Yuuri doubts everything.

“Yes,” Viktor agrees, again without missing a beat.

“Then it _is_ my job to take care of you,” Yuuri says. Viktor blinks, and then nods once in acquiescence. He takes a deep breath, and Yuuri knows he’s about to crumble. He hadn’t known that it was possible for someone as airily collected as Viktor to hit his emotional limit, but this of all things ought to be enough to do it,

 He steps forward again, pressing chaste comforting kisses to Viktor’s cheek, his neck, the shoulder of his coat. He wants Viktor to know that he is _here_ – and that he’s not letting go.

Viktor lets out an awful shaky little breath and presses his face into Yuuri’s shoulder again.

“I missed you,” he says.

“I missed you too,” Yuuri replies.

“I…when I … Um,” Viktor starts, stops, clears his throat. Yuuri takes his hand – and it’s so effortless now, so easy to hold Viktor is any and every way – and leads him to a quieter corner of the airport. It is peak time, and the airport is packed, but there is a little corner near a florist that is devoid of other people. Here, Yuuri kisses Viktor lightly on the mouth.

“When,” Viktor tries again. They’re standing closer now, fingers intertwined and foreheads pressed together. Viktor is shaking.

“When I found out that Makkachin was gone and I was too late, I wished that I wasn’t alone.”

This is a confession of the holiest kind – Viktor pulling his truth into the light at last. Yuuri holds him tight, and listens in silence.

“Minako told me that it wasn’t selfish for me to wish that you were with me – she said it was because I wasn’t just your coach. You – you don’t mind, that I wasn’t supporting you in Russia?” Viktor frowns.

“Viktor, I’m the one who made you come back to Japan,” Yuuri says, “remember? I didn’t want you not to be able to say goodbye, like I couldn’t say goodbye when…when Vicchan died.”

His cheeks colour as he says Vicchan’s name – after all, he had named his dog after the man now standing before him. Viktor kisses the bridge of his nose. Yuuri exhales.

“I’m so sorry, Viktor,” Yuuri says. He would not have wished it on anyone, the gutting pain of loss, and distance. And on Viktor…Yuuri stares hard into Viktor’s face.

“I’ll be okay,” Viktor promises, “before, Makkachin was my only family, da? But I have you now. I couldn’t have done it alone, I don’t think, but you can kiss me better, hmmn?”

Yuuri can certainly try – and Viktor is stronger than he is, anyway. He kisses Viktor desperately, again and again, knotting his fingers into the other man’s hair until both are left breathless. Yuuri feels as if he is standing on the edge of a glass knife, and he will either fall or shatter.

Viktor’s chest is heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

“We will talk about your skate though, yes?” he reminds Yuuri, “and about the finals. I’m so proud of you!” he says again. Yuuri smiles, and kisses him on the cheek.

“We have lots of time to talk about that later,” he says, “for now let’s just go home, okay?”

 

**1:44pm JST 22/11/16**

“Let’s go home, okay?” Yuuri says. Viktor agrees, but he already is home. Wherever Yuuri is – that’s his true home. And even though he still feels hollow, and shaken off-kilter, he knows that everything will be alright. Yuuri is the strongest person he knows, and if Yuuri survived his pain, then so can Viktor.

And if they can both survive their heartbreak, then… Yuuri can certainly win gold at the grand prix final!

Viktor squeezes Yuuri’s hand, and they start to head towards the car.

“Oh, crap!” Yuuri says suddenly, stopping dead in the middle of the road.

“Zvezdaka moya,” Victor says, “there are cars-”

“I forgot my suitcases!” Yuuri wails.

Viktor slaps a hand to his forehead, but he is smiling.

Yeah, he thinks, it will all be okay in the end.

 

**Author's Note:**

> wow I can't believe I've started writing fanfic again after like two years thanks gays on ice for giving my creativity a kick in the ass !!!! hmu on tumblr @ elesssar if ur about that life !!


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